


Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

by wargoddess



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, But who calls it that these days?, Dirty Talk, Epistolary, Epistolic, Fluffy Porn, Frottage, How can there not be a tag for epistolic, Implied Masturbation, Light BDSM, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Masturbation, Oh fine, Read books people, Sexting Old School, There's no tag for that either?, Trespasser DLC, What is wrong with you people, hey that works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:18:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7520015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And absence makes the heart fonder. Because the Trespasser DLC would be very different in the AU of "Something There Is That Does Not Love," Cullen stays home at Skyhold, and he and Carver write to each other. Leliana gets in the last word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Fences Make Good Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Something There is That Does Not Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6742387) by [wargoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess). 



> Spoilers for the Trespasser DLC and the end of "Something There Is That Does Not Love," though I suppose this can be read alone. If you haven't read that story or played the DLC, the notable bits are that a) Inquisitor Carver and Commander Cullen got married, very publicly, shortly after the Inquisition defeated Corypheus; b) Carver adopted three mage children along the way, and Cullen is now cautiously attempting to establish himself as their stepfather; and c) knowing that it was inevitable, Carver willingly had his left forearm (the one with the Anchor) chopped off and replaced by an amazing Dagna-made mechanical/magical arm that retains the Anchor's power. (Think automail from Fullmetal Alchemist.) 
> 
> This is mostly me experimenting with epistolic format, and porn for stress relief as usual. Since there's apparently no way to play with fonts in Ao3, you'll just have to imagine all of this in script -- Cullen's elegant and formal, Carver's more of a wild scrawl.

My Dearest Inquisitor:

I hope fervently that you are well and that the rumors I hear of matters at the Exalted Council are at least accurate. By all accounts the Council will be concluded shortly, and favorably for the Inquisition. While it troubles me greatly that I cannot be at your side lest Fen'Harel move against Skyhold, know that I have every faith in Ser Barris' ability to guard you in my absence. Know, too, that I believe wholeheartedly in your ability to weather the storms of the Orlesian court -- provided, naturally, that you maintain an even temperament at all times.

The children are well. Konsie, the Iron Bull tells me, is "downright Beresaadi" in temperament these days, if I have the declension right; she chafes daily to go forth and hit things. I have begun to suspect that the Bull feels some latent paternal attachment to her, mage or not, because of this. Last evening I discovered the two of them shouting at the moon while Krem beat them with rattan sticks -- apparently at the request of both. It is unholy.

I pray you will return before her sixteenth birthday, because I do not think myself capable of preventing her from leaving on a Chargers mission at the very hour of midnight on that day.

Please forgive me for the brevity of this letter. Leliana has reminded me that spies abound, and therefore I should write as if for your enemies' eyes. I find that this inhibits me rather more than I like.

In deepest devotion,  
Your loyal husband,  
Cullen

* * *

Cull,

For fuck's sake. Leliana's such a cockblock. You know she's still pissed off that we had a public wedding so she can't dangle you like meat in front of the court nobles. She'd probably try it anyway if you were here, so be glad you aren't. That way I don't have to cut anybody's fucking head off.

Speaking of cutting people's fucking heads off, everything's fine and I'm not going to do that to anyone. Probably. ~~Bann Teagan is a nug's left ballsack~~

Probably. Anyway, tell Konsie if she leaves on a mission before I get back to say goodbye, I'm sodding coming after her and I'm gonna embarrass her on the battlefield if I have to, blubbering and such. I'll do it. She knows I will. Also, give Malon noogies for me, and kiss Lem on the head every night, all right?

I fucking miss you. It was easier when I left Kirkwall. Then I thought you hated me and I'd never see you again. Knowing you're in Skyhold, and I could be with you if not for these bloody yammering cowards... It's hard. I don't like being lonely.

Take my mind off it? Tell me something dirty.

Love,  
C

* * *

My Dearest Carver:

I for one am grateful that this is nothing like when you left Kirkwall. But even then, I was incapable of hating you.

I have duly administered a nightly kiss to Lem, which I am told is much appreciated. And while I did not presume to administer "noogies" to Malon -- the boy is yet wary of me -- I conveyed your wishes that I do this to him, and he smiled for the rest of the day. After sober consideration, he informed me that I might be permitted to ruffle his hair, if I so chose. I did.

I know not how I am to respond to your letter's last request, given Leliana's warning. Though I, too, ache for your absence, I can offer only this in honest expression of my yearning: Trials 11. With a corrollary: _And do the cadences of my heart grow faster, hotter in the night-hours of longing, it is the memory of you, and your touch, that guides me to satisfaction._

In some embarrassment,  
Your poor poet of a husband,  
Cullen

* * *

Cull,

Malon's a good lad. He wants to like you, I can tell, ~~he's just old enough to remember the Templars before~~ but trust is hard for him. Just don't be an ass to him, even if he has a flare-off -- but he hasn't had one of those in ages. Not since Dorian started training him. In fact, Dorian says Mal's got such a brilliant mind that he's willing to sponsor Mal to the Circle of Minrathous. If Mal wants, of course. I'm thinking about it.

Maker's Breath, Cull, you call that dirty? Though I always liked Trials 11. Guess I shouldn't be surprised you picked my favorite.

 _Who knows me as You do?_  
_You have been there since before my first breath._  
_You have seen me when no other would recognize my face._  
_You composed the cadence of my heart._

No one else knows me as you do, Cull.

Right, though, if we're doing Chant verses, and we shouldn't because you know better, here's one. Just imagine 'Her' is me -- don't start -- and the veil is the curtains on our bed.

_With passion'd breath comes darkness_  
_But with many against Her,_  
_She finds His light untiring_  
_as it parts the Veil._

Not that I want many against me or anything. Just you. Untiring. Parting the curtains with that look on your face -- you know the one you get when you've a mind to have me all night, nothing fancy, just rutting 'til I'm so spent that I fall asleep before we've even wiped off, and you just lie on me sticky 'til morning.

There! Any of Baldy's spies want to read that, let's burn their ears back. Right? Now tell me what part of me you miss most.

Love,  
C

* * *

My Dearest:

I have spoken at length with Malon about Dorian's offer, if you will forgive my presumption. Dorian had already mentioned the possibility in a letter to him, so he sought my opinion on the matter. Though I will confess a certain... prejudice... within myself at the very idea of sending him to Tevinter, the fact remains that with the Templars now as part of the Inquisition, and those few seriously depleted in strength from the twin depredations of Corypheus and the lyrium withdrawal process, we cannot currently guarantee the safety or quality of the Circles in Orlais, Ferelden, and the Free Marches. Malon's magical potential is considerable, as you well know. I would hate to see it hampered by poor training or, worse, abuse. And if nothing else, Minrathous will be safe enough for the Inquisitor's scion, especially if he also holds the favor of a magister. I told him this, and as of now Malon seems inclined to accept Dorian's offer -- with your approval.

I am told that Bann Teagan actually suggested disbanding the Inquisition? Is that right? I once thought him a sensible man. Ah, but the years since the Blight have taken their toll on him, physically and otherwise.

Carver. My love. Leliana will almost surely see these letters, too. Much as I long to grant your request, I cannot bring myself to be so bold. Pray forgive me.

In some exasperation,  
Your longing husband,  
Cullen

* * *

Cull,

In for a silver, in for a sheep. Tell Mal I'm all right with it. I'll buy Dorian a drink and make the arrangements while we're both here. And hey, we can hire the Chargers to escort him to Dorian's mansion or plantation or whatever it is, so that can be Konsie's first mission. With Inquisition troops too, if you please, so the Tevinters don't give the Bull any shit. Dorian'll be happy to host them for a bit, I imagine. Bull especially.

Fuck Teagan. Also, fuck Leliana -- except don't, because she's probably a monster in bed. Sodding Orlesians. Anyway, burn her ears back, too.

(L, I've got lavender chocolates for you from Val Fermin, so don't get any ideas about poisoning me. Yet, anyway.)

Body. Part.

Bored and lonely,  
C

* * *

My Beloved:

I conveyed the first part of your last letter to Malon, and he was quietly yet unmistakably delighted. I will of course make arrangements for a detachment of Inquisition troops to escort the Chargers, and him, set to leave as soon as you return. As for the rest of your letter --

Maker's Breath. You are relentless. Very well.

~~I do not know how to~~

~~It shames me to admit that~~

~~I know no more eloquent way to say~~

Your ~~mouth~~ lips. I crave your lips.

In mortification,  
Your long-suffering husband,  
Cullen

* * *

Oh my sweet and perfect and glorious and masterful Cullen, Commander of my armies and my heart,

What do you like about my mouth-uh-lips?

Tell me tell me tell me,  
C

* * *

My Transparent Delight, Who is Abysmal at Flattery:

This is surely an abuse of the Inquisition's daily couriers. And Leliana. And Solas' spies, for that matter.

So be it.

~~I want to~~

~~I think of touching your lips. With fingers, first. Your mouth is soft, in my thoughts; you are a hard man in so many ways, but the truth of you is there, in those cupid's-bow curves. When you part them for me, when I kiss you, when I delve within your mouth, and you taste of~~

No. I cannot do this, my love, knowing our intimacies observed, and knowing that I will not see you for weeks yet. I'm sorry.

In shame,  
Your weak husband,  
Cullen

* * *

Cull,

Sorry. Truly. I forget you're not like me; you've got some actual honor. I don't give a sod who sees or what they think, but I ought not be so selfish.

It's only that I think of you all the time, these days. The meetings with the Council are endless. My ass is getting sore from the hard chair, and I've headaches every day from clenching my teeth when they say the most ridiculous slander. We fought for them. I lost my fucking arm for them, and to put this world they broke back together! They really think I'm some sort of power-mad king, or something! Like I care about stupid shit like that!

What I care about is making sure Baldy doesn't plunge us into the bloody Void on Earth. What I care about is the kids, and our people. And you. I think about you to keep my cool in the meetings, because you make me warm in a completely different way. Your voice. That little smile of yours. I think about your mouth, too. The way you seem to like just taking me with it, holding my head in place with your hands, making me open up for you, holding me still while you take your bloody time, no matter how much I want you in the bed. You want to know all of me, I know, with those kisses. You want me to know all of you.

~~It's even better when you let me go on my knees, and when you let me open my mouth to~~

Shit. Sorry again. Now I'm being an ass. Don't know why you even love me, sometimes.

Your useless shit of a hubs,  
C

* * *

My Dearest:

I have loved you since you stood before my desk and declared yourself mine, after your annointing. Though I did not admit this to myself for some while after.

I love you now more than ever. Even when you are fumblemouthed and think to have shamed me. But how can I find shame in such earnestness? Forgive me for implying as much.

What you say of me is true. When I take your mouth -- for that is how I think of it, I must admit -- it pleases me that you stand, and yield, and allow me my explorations without resistance. You fled from me once, Carver, when I strayed too far from your honor, and it is only once I proved myself better that you permitted my touch again. This is a truth of which I remind myself with every taste of your tongue. I am worthy. You permit me. You welcome me within.

So tell me, then, what pleases you, when I allow you to kneel.

In pride,  
Your humble and deeply honored husband,  
Cullen

P.S. I cannot stop you, Leliana. But if you have any decency... I beg you to say nothing of this, to either of us. Allow us the illusion of privacy, at least.

* * *

Cull,

Fucking Void. It's been such a shit day. Cassandra's saying we've got to give up the Templars back to the Chantry. She doesn't want to demand it, but she says that's the way the wind's blowing. And she can't even guarantee the Circles will stop using the Rite of Tranquility as a punishment. It's all falling apart, Cull. We tried to make the world better, and it's just turning back into the shitheap it was. I don't know what to do.

Can't take it. Gonna think about you. You're all that's sure, for me, in this world.

Gonna think about kneeling on the rug in my room, back at Skyhold. Naked because I want you. Blindfolded, because you said so. I'll hold my hands behind my back, or you can tie me, if you want. (I know you want that. You like the silks. I do too.) My mouth's open. I don't know who might come into the room and see me like that -- the servants, an assassin, anybody. It's you, though. I know the sound of your boots and breath and breastplate.

I hear you take the armor off. I'm so hard, Cull, just from thinking about you. You come over and I can smell the leather of your trousers. You let me hear you unlacing them. My mouth should be dry but it's watering, Maker how. Then I feel you gliding over my tongue, right to the back of my throat. I like it when you're soft too but it's better when you're hard like this, when you're half crazy with wanting me but pretending to be in control, commanding me to do things so you can see me obey. I want to obey, I want to not be in charge here of all places, I want to just trust you to take care of me, I want your hand in my hair, pulling me forward, making me open up for you. It's like your kisses -- you want to take your time, make sure you know all of me, teeth to throat. You're soft skin but hard underneath, and you taste like salt and you, you're gliding faster, it's like you're stroking me all over, it's like you're in in every part of me and I want to taste you, swallow you, I want everything you have to g iv e m

f uck cull I drpped pen th at's ink Is wear that b lot is just INK BUt I can't w rite any more fuc k I need you

love

* * *

My Carver:

Sweet Maker. I have been in a state since I read your letter. Perhaps it will please you to know that I took it with me to bed that night. I cannot say that it truly eased me; my hand is torment, for it is not your hand. Still. Everything you imagine, I would offer you. Everything I have, all of me, is yours. Never doubt it.

It seems inappropriate to discuss business at all, in these letters. I do not want to. I want only to offer you distraction and reassurance and support, as a good husband should. But I do not believe the world will fall apart -- not with your hand on its tiller. You stand against gods, Carver; the mere mortals of the Council have no hope of forcing you back into the status quo that we have all shed blood and tears to change. The people are with you in this. I have every faith in you, my love, my Inquisitor; you are my commander as well as my beloved, my light where the Maker's absence has left me wanting. Show them what you are, my Carver. Give them your fist, if they are fools enough to think your open hand soft. Ah, demons, if only I could be there to witness it! I have seen the armor of a Templar manifest upon you out of nothingness. You are truer to the service of the Maker than ever was I, and it shines upon you. You are Maurevar's heir, Ameridan's legacy, and Andraste's Herald. They have no idea whom they seek to dominate.

Yet you yield for me, every night that I desire it. That is the wonder of it! I will confess my great sin now, Carver, though you know it well: I am a man of deep and profane lusts. When you kneel for me, when you bend and allow me to open you, the thoughts in my head ~~are so~~

My hand shakes. My passion'd breath comes harder. I think I must write this quickly.

I dreamt last night of being upon you, sweet Carver. You were helpless beneath me, trussed in silk and slender gilt chains, your thighs braced apart, your skin oiled. I lowered myself onto you slowly, watching you watch me, reveling in your need, your desperation, your willingness. Sex to sex we met first, then limbs to limbs, belly to belly and chest to chest; last were our lips, but here I only brushed, for I wanted your voice. How you moaned for me, Carver. "Please, Cull," you said. Have I ever told you what those words do to me? I think you know regardless. You begged for me and I tormented you shamelessly. I stroked us together, using the whole of me to caress the whole of you. When you shuddered in that particular way which I know so well, the precursor to your release, I stopped. Smiled at your curses. Kissed the tears from each of your eyes. Only when my lips touched yours again, oh so lightly, did I resume our greater intimacies. Sex to sex, delicious Carver, so hungry were we both, and you pressed back to meet me, faster and faster, both of us nothing but breath and groaning pleasure, until...

I woke shuddering with your name upon my lips. I seek my bed now, the same.

In desperation,  
Your lover and husband,  
Cullen

* * *

Oh Cull,

I fucking love you. I love you so much. I love you I love you I don't know how to say it more but I do, I do, I do.

Fuck. You're everything.  
C

* * *

My Knight:

I have heard accounts of your speech to the Council. They vary somewhat, having already stretched with the retelling, but I have no doubt that you did draw your sword and threaten to gut them all, nor that you called them 'spineless dirt-grubbers who would see Thedas rent to the Void' rather than acknowledge that they still need the Inquisition. Some say that you used Dagna's Arm to open a partial rift right there in the room, to remind the Council of the power they face in Solas; some say you closed a rift that opened naturally, with a snap of your silver fingers, to remind them that you alone have some mastery over his power. I suspect both accounts are true, but will await your retelling in time. I also have no doubt that you told them to reconvene the Council and call upon you again only if and when they should happen to defeat Solas themselves, and then you walked out. That is the Carver I know and love.

One week, my Carver. They say you are but one week from Skyhold. I would steal a horse from Master Dennet and ride forth to meet you, if I had any talent at hard riding in armor, and if the man would not follow and kill me.

I have asked Dagna to prepare a gift for you. Hurry home.

In needful anticipation,  
Your eager husband,  
Cullen

* * *

Is it the chains? Please say it's those gold chains from your dream. Maker, I haven't been able to sleep without wanking every night, thinking about those sodding chains.

* * *

My Light:

It is the chains.

In two days,  
Your Cullen

* * *

Cull,

Tomorrow. Maker watch over us both, and Maferath help anybody who gets in my bloody way. That means you, Baldy; attack tomorrow and I'll kill you with my dick. It won't be on purpose, just your own fucking dumbshit fault. The great Fen'Harel, tripping on the Inquisitor's dick and going ass over teakettle off the ramparts. That'll be a story for the telling, eh?

Fuuuuuuuck, Cull,  
C

* * *

(Leliana, please deliver this card to our Inquisitor upon his arrival. I believe it will amuse you to do so.)

My Love:

Welcome home. Come upstairs.

In promise,  
Cullen

* * *

Lel, hold my correspondence. Tell Josie to tell all the nobles and emissaries to fuck off for at least a day. Ask Konsie to keep the boys distracted; she knows what's up. Lavender chocolates attached. Not a word anywhere if you want the rosemary and almond ones in my baggage; you talk and I'll never convince Cull to write me dirty letters again. You want to read more of 'em too, right? So mum's the word.

Fuck. Make it two days.

* * *

My Foolish Yet Delightful Inquisitor, Upon Your Eventual Recovery:

The chocolates are delicious, though I imagine our dear commander is far more so. As if you need remind me of discretion! Honestly. For withholding the rosemary and almond, I will not tell you about the other surprises he has had made for you -- though by the time you read this, you will know, in any case.  Our commander is so creative when he puts his mind to it, isn't he?  Dagna is most amused.

Ah, how it pleases me to see two dear friends so happy! I look forward to many breathless letters between you during future separations. By the way, you should know that Josephine has a pool running that the two of you will leave the balcony doors open, so that anyone in the garden might hear the joyful tenor of your reunion. I have put considerable funds into "Yes, you most certainly will," thanks largely to the fevered tone of these letters. My purse will thank you.

Enjoy, as I doubtless shall,  
L


End file.
